USUK, a Colletion of Short Stories
by Phox99
Summary: A collections of fluff driven one shots, Story Summary:It's late at night when Alfred is sure someone is breaking in. Married USUK
1. Puzzle Rings

The ring sat in its black box velvet box, eight bands of twisting golds caught the light in the room in such a way that England swore, was mocking him.

England was in his study, sitting in a worn but well loved arm chair. The late afternoon was sun filtering through the room accompanied by a light breeze that rustled the curtains. In his hand was a ring.

Not just any ring though, it was _the_ ring.

The ring he was going to use to ask America to marry him with—at some point possibly— in the near future.

He heaved a long suffering sigh and allowed himself to slump in his chair, a headace forming behind his temples.

The best way England could describe his relationship with America , was… it was… Well it was rather like a jigsaw puzzle. Yes, he knew that that was an overused and clichéd metaphor, fitting together like puzzle pieces and all. But he wasn't referring to just the individual pieces of the puzzle. He was referring to the puzzle as a whole.

Their relationship was well, was big, complex, and some pieces just did not fit together not matter how hard you willed them to. But after many, many aggravating years of pulling their hair out, and thoughts of just walking away from the damned thing once and for all. They were rewarded with something beautiful, that in the end fell into place, like the last pieces of—well, a puzzle.

Perhaps it was this prevailing idea of puzzles, that lead him to buy the puzzle ring in the first place.

To be honest he had been toying with the idea of asking America to marry for him for awhile, ever scent about 2004 when his own country allowed civil unions to take place! But something had been holding him back from actually taking that plunge. Maybe it was his own fear of being rejected, or maybe it was some else entirely. Either way though, England was petrified when came to the idea of actually jumping off the matrimonial cliff.

England blamed the royal wedding for pushing him off that cliff. Thanks to his royals getting married everyone had marriage on the brain. To the point where even America, had (five months ago…) off handedly mention that it would be _nice, _if they could one day _get hitched._

"Wouldn't that be nice Arthur?" He muttered to himself, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

He looked back at the box in his hand the ring sitting on its crushed velvet cushion still mocking him.

Maybe he thought the thing was mocking him because the thought of asking the one man he loved the most to tie his life to his for the rest of their days still scared him to no end!

He come this far though the once empire was not about to give up. He'd looked around for what seemed like ages before he bought a ring that he felt suited American, at any rate that lad would have something more to not pay attention with at meetings. He just needed to think of a proper way to ask him, and he'd be golden.

If he were America, he would have found a way to paint the question across the bleeding sky! But he was not America, not by any stretch of the imagination. There seemed to be something so clichéd about all the traditional methods of proposal. Fancy dinners, insert time of day, walks in the park/ sea side, even asking America at one of their world functions! All of these had crossed his mind at some-point scents he had decided to walk down this path, but all of them had been tossed out for one reason or another.

England sat up with a sigh setting the open box on the arm of the chair as he glanced at the mantle clock. It was getting dangerously close to four o'clock, and tea-time was not something that England was about to forgo just because couldn't find a satisfactory way to pop-the-question to who had to be the most loveable over-grown git in all of Christendom. Especially when said git was going to be arriving for (as America put it) 'special just us time', at around five o'clock.

He rolled his shoulders they felt stiffer than usual, maybe America was right, he really should try and relax more. He made to bring his hands up to stretch his arms over his head, but as he did so his hand bumped into the arm chair just hard enough to in the ring, box and all flying. England watched transfixed as the box bounced once, actually dislodging the ring which hit the hard wood with a noise like a handful of pennies.

"Oh bollocks ." It was all he could really find to say, as he looked at the jumble of loops on the floor of his study. He pushed himself out of his chair, and with shaking fingers picked up the knot of rings that damn puzzle ring had become. A quick examination showed that none of the loops were actually bent in a way that they shouldn't be. It was just a matter of solving the puzzle.

England grumbled a litany cursing his own clumsiness, as picked up the box, it was really, nothing fret about all he to do was find where he put the blasted instructions and put it back together before America showed up. Simple really…

_Or not so simple…_ England thought nearly an hour later when he sat at his kitchen table head in his hands and the ring sitting so innocently on the table in front of him, no closer to be solved. He'd torn apart his house looking for the directions to put the ring back together again, but they were nowhere to be found. What was more he had spent nearly all of tea-time looking for them. He had come to the rather gloomy conclusion that he must have accidentally thrown them out at some point.

He groaned and lifted his head just enough to glare at the disassembled ring. There was no way he could ask America to marry now! Not with a ring that was in pieces, grant it that was what the ring supposed to, but still!

How would it look if he got down on one knee before America, and asked to marry him with the puzzle ring in its current state ? What would he even say?

"Oh, Alfred, my love marry me? And if you say yes, you have to figure out how to put your ring together."

No, that was not a situation wanted to face. England sat the rest of the way up and glanced at his wrist watch. It was nearly five o'clock, he let out a sad sigh, a hand covering the frown that found its way to his face. He picked up the tangled ring and set it in the box, never bothered to close the lid.

"Well," he said to the room at large, in the voice of one trying to put on a brave front, "It looks like it will just have to wait until the next time won't it?"

Solemnly he pushed back from the table and set about getting the kettle on. He might of missed most of tea-time, but that still didn't mean that tea was not unwarranted. The fact that it was very nearly five did not slip England's mind, but banked on the fact that America would most likely be about half an hour to an hour late. Thus, giving him time to put the kettle on, hide the ring , try and get his home back into some semblance of order, and then act like he'd be in repose all day.

While he banged about in his cabinets for the kettle he vaguely wondered why America didn't want him to just pick him up from the airport? It was what they normally did when visiting one another, and he rather enjoyed those airport reunions when they hadn't seen each other for weeks or even months at a time. But America, had been oddly incessant over the phone about not be picked from the airport this time round.

He stood at his sink filling his beaten kettle lost in his own thoughts, the sound of the rushing tap filling his ears. He never did hear the other sounds.

Like the sound of a key being sloughed into his front door, or the sound of a bag being set down quietly as a door was closed. Nor did he hear the sound of someone trying all too hard to not be heard, as they made their way through a house they happened to know all too well.

So it was to be expected that England might not react too kindly to someone who would sneak up behind him and suddenly wrap their arms tightly about his person.

Poor America received a sharp elbow to the gut and face full tepid water for his troubles.

England, still acting on instinct wheeled round and brought the kettle up in over handed swing ready to deliver the killing blow, but the kettle slipped from his fingers and clattered into the sink behind him.

"Alfred, you're on time!" He gasped, as his eyes alighted on the damp nation doubled over clutching his stomach, then nearly slapped himself. He'd nearly stoved his boyfriend's head in with a kettle and all he could do was make a comment on America's punctuality! What was wrong with him?

America looked up at his lover a pained smile on his face. Not quite the tender greeting he had planned but what's a hero to do?

"H-hey, honey-bunny it's nice to see you to." He grunted, as he righted himself, still rubbing his mid-section.

England rolled his eyes with a huff, "Git, just what were you thinking sneaking up on me like that? I nearly killed you!"

America jutted his bottom lip out in a pout shaking the water out his hair, "Aw, come on Artei , I just wanted to surprise you that's all."

The British nation heaved a sighed and shielded himself from the spray of water droplets that American sent flying about the kitchen, _Really that boy…_

"Alfred, love, stopped that you're getting water everywhere, here let me get you a towel."

He pushed past the younger nation only to be stopped by a strong hand on his arm. England half turned and raised a impressive, brow to a set of baby blue's that he never learned to say no to.

"Can't I at least get a kiss for my pain? I mean it's been so long scent we saw one another!" That pout, that America had perfected over years on his face.

England couldn't help the small smile that came, not quite unbidden to his lips, but it was quickly cover it with poorly feigned annoyance, "Well, I suppose."

"Hey you were the one who threw water in my face!" America said with mock indignation as he and England drew closer.

"Watch your tongue lad," England replied, making it a point to light cuff America upside the head as he took the boys wet cheeks in his hands, "or you might find more than just water in your face the next time round."

Their breath mingled as America smiled that ridiculous grin of his, "Well as thing go I guess you have thrown worst things at face before!"

England felt it best to not respond to that last statement, for if he did it would spoil the mood. He felt the American press his forehead to his blue eyes meeting green, saying 'I love you' without words.

Neither could ever say who leaned in first, either though way the last few inches between them disappeared as their lips met. They melted into one another; America's lips were still very damp, and the water that dripped onto his shoulders reminded him that he might want to find America that towel soon. But as America hummed and smiled into the kiss pressing back a bit more firmly— maybe the towel could wait.

They pulled apart somewhat reluctantly, England stroking America's cheek fondly, and America smiling that dopey smile of his that he always wore after a kiss like that.

"It is nice to see you darling, and I am rather sorry about attacking you in such manner" England said in a stage whisper.

To which America shrugged good naturedly his eyes sparkling in the light as he chuckled. "Ah don't worry about it sweetheart, a little water never killed anyone before!"

England padded the cheek one more time before he let his hands drop, and took a step back from his lover, "I suppose that might be true. Now you, go and sit at the table while I go and fetch you a towel. I don't want you getting water all over my house."

America bobbed his head in agreement, as he turned his back to begin to dig through his kitchen drawers. A large tee-towel could do for now until he could nip up stairs for a better one.

"Hey, Iggy when did you get a puzzle ring?"

He nearly slammed the drawer on his hand, _Shite, _he'd forgotten about the ring in the excitement. England wheeled around mouth flapping uselessly as he tried to some explain away the presence of the ring that would make America forget about the ring until he could fix it. The excuses died in his throat though; America was already holding the jumbled mass of rings between his thumb and forefinger; such a look of concentration on his face with his tongue poking out of his mouth.

All England could really do was watch in stunned amazement as American slid the loops up and round one another, each one falling into its proper place seamlessly. He sometimes forgot just how intelligent America could be, in all fairness though the lad made so easy with his talk of giant robots, and zombie apocalypse preparedness kits. But America was the nation that made it to the moon six times and back, on little more than sound math and prayer, America had been the first nation to take to the skies and nerve look back, and as America presented the solved puzzle ring to him in his up turned palm with a gleeful grin, was the nation to spawn the Rubik's cube.

"Niffty ring sweetheart, though isn't it a bit big for your finger?" America said taking a closer look at the ring. "Not that I would know your ring size or anything…" He add quickly a faint hint of red dusting his cheeks

England blinked coming out of his daze with a small intake of air. When had America gotten so close?

America arched a concerned eye brow in his direction, "Iggy, babe you okay, you seem out of it?"

He batted the hand away that America tried to place on his shoulder with an air of determination, and gently took the ring out of his palm less it fall apart again.

No he shouldn't, he really, really shouldn't. It was a foolish notion to even begin with, the mood wasn't right, and America was still dripping water, and and he'd left the tap running, and there were just so many other reasons why he should not do, what he was probably going to do anyways. Because one thought, one little voice in the back of head managed to stand out from the rest yammering for him to just turn tail and run.

_Since when has anything in this relationship work out exactly as you planned it?_

And looking into those eyes, those worried, summer blue eyes that had stolen his heart the first time they looked into his, and never bothered to give it back. He knew that right now was as good a moment as any. That no matter what the centuries had in store for them, he wouldn't want to face those unforgiving years with anyone else.

"Arthur?" America asked, as England took his left hand in his, shock and confusion evident on his face. England ignored him though, for if he were to keep looking into those eyes he just might lose his nerve. He kept his eyes trained on America's hand, sliding the ring soundly onto the appropriate finger. It fit perfectly, as was to be expected; it wasn't that hard to figure out the younger nations ring size. American slept like the dead after all.

He felt rather than heard America's intake of breath, as he slowly knelt before the one he loved the most. Only when his knee hit the ground did he dare look up at America face, who's eyes were now as wide as saucers behind his glasses. England took a breath and gently squeezed the hand that was quivering in his own stealing himself to speak what had to be the most difficult phrase in the English language…

"Alfred F Jones, would you please marry me? Not as a nation but as the man I have loved for so very long."

The words hung in the air and there was taking them back now. England was aware of his heart hammering in his chest threatening to break out with each strike against his rib cage. His body felt light almost sickeningly so, well aware that his whole world could come crashing down with just one word.

America's face was dazed and flushed, his mouth hung slight open, and the corners of his eyes glistened with barely restrained tears.

"Alfred?" He prompted, seeking to break whatever spell America seemed to be under.

He was only briefly aware of the hand in his taking hold of his wrist, before England was wrenched to his feet and pulled into a literally bone crushing hug. America buried his head in the crook of England's neck in a rather weak attempt to hide his tears, he still felt them soaking through his shirt.

England felt rather inclined to take his lover's actions as a good sign, if America snapping his spine could be seen as good thing. It wasn't exactly a yes, but he highly a sobbing America meant, no. He sighed, pressing a comforting cheek against the head of wheat blond hair trying to hide in his clavicle, and warp his arms around slightly shaking shoulders. They rocked back and forth for a moment, swaying to some unknown rhythm of comfort.

"Not cool man." America said at length.

"I beg your pardon, what?" England replied mildly affronted.

He looked up at America his eyebrows furrowed as the younger pulled away and held England at arm's length, smiling a watery grin

"Not cool for making me cry," he said with a sniffle, taking off his classes wiping at the fresh tears with the heel of his hand, "I mean man, that just kind of came out of left field, and I never thought you'd beat me to it!"

England, blinked, and then blinked again, causing America to just laugh and shake his head. He set his glasses down on the table, digging in the pocket of his bomber jacket for something.

"I guess what I'm saying is, that yes Arthur Kirkland, I will marry you but, under one condition…"

England felt his heart soared higher than any bird, then plummeted like a lump of lead all within the same moment, "What-what's your condition?"

The younger nation simply shook his and pulled from his pocket a box. A small black velvet box; green eyes went wide as two and two suddenly became four.

He opened the box to revile a heavy gold band with a single expertly cut Emerald standing slightly proud of the metal. Then in a voice that was sheepish when compared to his normal vibrato said, "Only if you'll marry me to, okay?"

They stared at each other before a smirk broke across America's face, and a laugh escaped England's throat before he could stop it. The laugher balloon around him taking America with it; soon their laugher filled the kitchen. England felt himself falling into America's arms still laugh his head resting on a broad shoulder. Wither this laughing fit was brought on by hysterics or just out right relief, England really couldn't tell nor did he care to! What had been so worried about again, England couldn't remember. America was laughing holding him close, and proposing marriage just after he'd managed to pop the question first!

Their laughter subsided with England rubbing at his eyes, "My we are a quite a pair."

America nodded in agreement " A perfect mismatch set if you ask me!"

The kiss that followed was to be expected, but was still just as sweet. When they pulled apart , England let America slipped the ring onto his finger.

"So I take it you'll marry me then?" America asked cheekily, as he appraised the Emerald ring on now on his fiancée's finger.

England smirked, "I would assume the answer would be obvious by this point."

"I know," America pouted "It be nice to hear you say it, I said it to you after all."

He linked their hands so that their rings bumped together, gazed upward "I suppose it should be said…" he hummed noncommittally drawing the moment out, "Yes Alfred I'll marry you, if you will marry me."

America let out a small cheer an impish gleam in those blue depth's as he rested his forehead against England's, while his free found place on England's waist "Then we're all set then!"

_All set then_. Of cores America would wrap up something like this into one neat little package, but he couldn't really bring himself to be annoyed by right now. Especially when America leaned into kiss him again.

" You know I love you," he said in a breathless whisper, "right Iggy?"

He nodded and brought the intertwined hands to his lips, "And I you darling, though I must ask?"

" Sure, what is it, honey-bunny?"

England gestured at his new ring with a small twitch of his head, "Is this why you didn't want me to pick up from the airport today?"

"Oh, yeah," America said with a shrug, "I had to pick it up from the jeweler's today and I wanted it to be a surprise, and I guess it kind of was! You just surprised me first."

England then smiled a smile that he saved just for America pulling his now fiancé in for another kiss.

And later, much later when love had been made and they were laying in his bed, with America curled around him, snoring in his ear like a rather large animal with a sinus problem. He tucked his head under his fiancé's chin, and sighed contentedly feeling as though that puzzle of theirs was finally, truly complete.


	2. Childhood Tragedy

Tragedy, England found, could be any number of things in the mind of a small child. And America was no exception.

Like a sudden shower, that meat America had to stay inside to play, having to wait out the winter, or even bath time. England had also come to learn that bath time could also be the cause of much strife in his life as well if he was not careful. But these small tragedies were typicality passed with little trouble, mostly just some grumbling on America's part.

It was the big tragedies that England had to be most watchful for. Things like monsters in the cupboard, ragging storms, and the bumps and buries acquired throughout the day, that made America run crying into his arms. And England was more than ready to chase the monsters away, clam the winds, and play nurse maid to every scraped knee and skinned elbow. Anything that would make his precious colony's tears dry up and return that smile to its proper place.

The summer was hot in the Massachusetts -Bay Colony, in 1691, but at least it was not as hot as it would in the Virginian settlements. Thus England was more than content to sit with the window to his study open. Letting in the cooling cross breeze. On his desk before him sat his half written report to the Crown on the state of affairs and over all general welfare of the American colonies. However, the shaggy haired nation was rather loathed to write the blasted thing. The warm air was making him very sleepy, and the fact that he had spent most of the morning chasing the American colony himself around was not helping in the least bit. The little energy vampire, that's where American was getting all that energy from, he was leaching it out England.

He barely managed to stifle the yawn, he had sent America outside to play for a bit so he could he could to get some work done. But with the hellion out of hair for the time being, England had no drive left to work at all. All England really wanted to do was get nap in while he still had the time to. For once America came home there would no chance to for him rest while he had to keep an eye on the little colony.

England yawned, and then glared at his report. With a sigh he carelessly tossed his quill back into the inkwell. The crown could wait, and at the very worst he could always say that the report got lost in transit. He leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes slip closed.

Yes, a nap would do him some much needed good.

Sleep had only graced him for only a blessed few moments, when the door to his study banged open with such a force that it nearly knocked the thing off its hinges. England jolted awake and instantly tried to look like he'd been working the whole time.

"England!" America called form the door way.

The distressed note in the cry wiped all remnants of sleep from his mind as brother mode kicked in. "America, what is it what's wrong?"

His little colony was across the room around his desk in no time flat, tugging on his sleeve with the upmost urgency. His stuffed bunny clutched tightly to his small chest, and his blue eyes were wild and watering. His small mouth flapping uselessly as he tried to form words that just wouldn't come to him.

"America are you hurt any where?" England asked his own distress rising, he pushed his chair back and knelt to be eye leave with America. He placed his hand on the lad's shoulders, "America?"

America managed to shake his head, his eyes closed tight rubbing at his eyes with the hand that wasn't clinging to his bunny.

"Then what's wrong dear?" England implored, tugging his small hand away from his round face.

The lad hiccupped, and in a shaking hand held out the patchwork- bunny that England had made for him when he'd first made America his little brother.

"H-he's b-b-been, hurt England!" America sobbed, fat tears now streaming freely down his face.

England look down at the doll and saw the clearly the tare across the toy's neck, stuffing leaking from the whole. England felt relief wash over him in great waves, as he wiped away America's tears. Mending a ripped friend was simple enough, the hard part was calming America down.

"Hush lad, now tell me what happened"

America sniffled, "I-I was outside playing some the kids from the village, and- and I brought Bunny along because h-he likes the kids from the village, the other kids bring their toys to play with, and- and I was playing with Suzie Scottfiled and h-er dolls, and that's- that's when some of the older boys showed up and- and stared calling us names, and John Baker called me a sissy cause boys shouldn't play with girls and their dollies and that's when he took bunny away from me and said that I shouldn't something like that, and I tried to get him back but then he held it high above my head, I told him he should give him back and leave me and Suzie alone and that it wasn't nice to pick on others, but -but then he just laugh at and started pulling at Bunny's head, I could let him do that, and Bunny's head was staring to get hurt, and- and I didn't know what else to do England, s-so I-I pushed him to the ground and picked up Bunny and I- know you said that I should us my strength against normal people, b-but John was being mean and wouldn't leave me and Suzie alone, a-nd, and I'm sorry England, but Bunny was being hurt, and Suzie was crying, and- and now Bunny's hurt, and I'm so sorry Englaaand!"

America finished his verbal dysentery with a racking sob as he buried his head in England's neck. England brought his arms around the distraught colony, feeling rather breathless on America's behalf. How the lad had managed that entire dialog without stopping once for breath marveling to say the least, a testament to the lad's lung capacity if anything.

He rubbed soothing circles into his colony's heaving back, and waited for his sobs to die down, until they became tiny hiccups. He then held America at arm's length, and looked tenderly into upturn watery blues. Oh, how this one child had the world strongest Empire wrapped around his little finger, England would never know.

He placed a kiss to America's forehead and tweaked his cowlick which made the lad giggle through his sadness. "There's nothing to worry about love."

"R-really?" Hope abounding about his person.

"Yes really," England said taking Bunny from America's hand, "I can have Bunny fixed up good as new before you can say Bob's your Uncle!"

The look of pure admiration the spread across the little lad's face made England blush, he was still so unused to such open displays of affection. He coughed awkwardly as he stood and held his hand out to his colony, "Now come, let's go see what I have in my sewing kit that get Bunny back up on his feet again, shall we?"

America nodded excitedly placing his hand in England's holding on tightly, "Thank you England, everything will be okay Bunny England will fix it!"

England smiled, for even though America's was still red that smile had returned. He squeezed America's small hand in his, and tugged him along out of his study.

And later as he was tucking America in for the night, Bunny healed of all tears. England knew looking that angelic face wrapped in slumber's embrace, he just knew, that smile was all that really mattered to him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Done for the USUK Summer Camp on Live Journal


	3. A Hero in Bloodcaked Armor

_The noir hero is a knight in blood caked armor. He's dirty and he does his best to deny the fact that he's a hero the whole time. _

−_Frank Miller_

The city is like a woman. Cool and inviting, with the grace and charm that could lure any man into her cold embrace. But once she had her way with him, she tosses him a side for the next young buck that has the misfortune to cross her path. Alone and forgotten, but you can't bear to leave.

I had been one of those wide eye young bucks, how long ago that was. I can't remember. There are some days were I regret falling for the siren song of the city. Falling prey to the flashing lights, fast cars, and easy money. But after the shine's worn off and you see The City for what she truly is, a hellhole of Mafia wars and sin. It's almost like waking up from a dream to find the nightmare is just beginning. You've been tossed into the shark tank, and she's laughing at you all the while, as you're being dragged down to the bottom.

Maybe's that's why I can't stand women anymore, or at least the kind of dames you find in this city. All dolled up and waiting for a Mr. Right with a fat wallet, or some hero on a white horse.

Hero, now that's a word that can kill a man if he's not careful. Back when I first came here to this city of back allies and sleepless nights. I had every intention on saving this city from herself. Of being the kind of man that would swoop in and rid The City of her problems and just like that. I'd be the hero that I always wanted to be. But thing's I have found ain't ever that simple. And you can't really save something that doesn't want to be saved in the first place.

This city ain't no damsel, no she's the Mob Boss, she's The Don, The Vor v zakone,_ she's_ the one who decides whether you live or die.

So I gave up on my naive dream of being The City's hero, her golden boy. And soon found myself protecting the little good lift in The City. Those hard working people caught in the cross hairs, just try'n to scrape together enough to get by. Wishing they could live somewhere their children are safe and night aren't filled with the sounds Tommy Guns going off.

It's those are the people I protect, and it's those people who call me a hero.

But I ain't no hero, no caped crusader, no I'm just one guy in a trench coat, with a ramshackle office space, a door that never closes, and a couple of Colt-45's as back up.

I may save people, I may solve their problems, but I ain't no hero. I never was.

The night was thick with smog, and there was drizzle falling from the cloud's over head. Not quite dry but not quite wet. It was The City in one of her moods, the kind where she could make up her mind whither she wanted to wash the blood away, or leave it for the neighbors find the next morning.

But I had long scent gotten used to this dame and her mood swings.

I trudged down a side ally leaned against the brick work trying my hardest to stay upright, until I reached my destination. To collapse in these streets was just asking for trouble. The ally spun, the colors and shapes blending and melding into one entity before separating back into it original part. I put a hand to my head to stop the onslaught of vertigo, and pulled it to find my palm painted with red.

The cynical smirk that found its way to my face was no surprise by now. I could now add a head wound to the list of other injuries that I had acquired this evening. All courtesy of Ivan Braginsk and his gang of cut throats, commie bastard.

I couldn't tell if I was bleeding elsewhere, blood caked as I was. I'd liked to pretend that it was mostly other people's blood that was currently staining one of my last suits, and coat. But with the way my side was twinging, I highly doubted that.

I pushed off the wall, staggering into the night and the open street at the other end of the ally. I was almost there, just around one more corner and down a side street then I'd be there.

It was then The City made up her mind, the light drops that were falling increased in frequency until they became a down pour. She wanted to be clean or as clean as she could get.

Soaked through and bloody was how I arrived, at the small back door to the tailor's shop. Tucked away in another back ally that only a few know about, it was this door I knocked on with as much force as I could muster.

I was grateful when the door opened without preamble, almost as if it had been excepting me. I didn't say anything, I didn't need to. I couldn't see the person who had open the door but I knew they were there, like they always were. I managed to tip my hat to them as my vision closed in, my body finally cashing in all the night's nicks and dings. The floor met me same rough comfort it always held.

I lay there face first on the floor half in the build half in the ally headed steadily towards unconsciousness. I heard the long drawn out sigh of the man who owned the place, for this was not the first time I had passed out, bloody on his door step, nor will it be the last.

Just before I was completely lost to the world I felt a warm hand on my cheek and another sigh.

"Really Alfred, what am I to do with you?"

I awoke sometime later. How much time later I couldn't tell, but what I did know was that I was still alive, very stiff, and in a bed that was not mine, but that I knew all too well.

The room was dim, day time with the shutters drawn, and lightly furnished.

"W-what time is it?" The question felt dry and heavy in my mouth.

"Four-thirty in the afternoon if you must know, but I don't see why I bother. You're just going to bugger off back to fairy land soon, and leave me to clean up the mess you made." Came the sharp accented reply that was meant to be a reprimand, but I heard so many times that really was useless by this point.

I turned my head to the side, wincing at the pain in my neck as I did so. A slim man sat a chair put up close to the bed side, a needle in one hand and a bundle of clothes in the other. He had wild blond hair and striking green eyes, his face was set in a frown that made his thick brow stand out. The sight as hole made me smile, though I'm sure it came out as grimmest.

"Mor'n Arthur"

I watch almost gleefully as the expression Arthur's face soften as his resolve to stay angry with me, crumbled. He stuck the needle into the project he was working on and ran a hand through my hair, "Really why do I keep helping you?"

"B-because you can't say no to these baby blues," I chuckle, though action caused my side to ache.

Arthur leveled me with a skeptical look, "I highly doubt it's you oh so charming looks, that make clean up after your heroics."

I looked away, at one time I would have love for my actions to called heroic, but now they were merely just a part of the job. Not heroics, not even good deeds, they were just actions that were so small when faced with the might of The City's dark side.

Arthur sighed and I heard the rustle of cloth than meant he had set aside his sewing for the moment.

"So who was it this time?"

"B-braginsk." I coughed out.

"Ah that would explain the broken ribs and the concussion, wrong of that pipe he's so fond of wheedling. Is it safe to assume that his little sister was there as well?"

I nodded, crazy knife happy bitch that she was.

"Ah, then that would explain the multiple lacerations, you acquired this time as well." Arthur exhaled and continued in the voice of one suffering through some minor annoyance, "Honestly I don't know what required more stitching you or clothing?"

Our eyes met and I saw more worry there that the doctor turned tailor wanted to let on about.

"So what do Braginsk this time, threaten someone's granny, kidnap someone's family member, or did you just happen to run into him and his gang while out for a late night stroll."

"Yeah something like that…" I said taking sudden interest in the water stains on the ceiling. I couldn't tell him the real reason I had confronted Braginsk last night was because the bastard had ordered a hit on him. That Braginsk wanted to kill the one thing I felt made living in this city worthwhile. No, if told Arthur that he'd only excuse me of being the hero I wasn't.

Arthur huffed and I could almost hear his eyes roll, "Fine be that way, you git."

I couldn't help smile at this, he was safe for now and that's all that really mattered. His hand was running through my hair again, and there was a small resigned smile on his face.

"Go back to sleep Alfred, you're going to need if you're going to help clean up the mess you made on my door step."

I nodded feeling the darkness of sleep creeping up on me once more. Though as I was lost to the world once more I felt lips press a kiss to my forehead and a warm voice whisper, "Sleep well you damn hero."

* * *

><p>AN: More writing form the USUK Summer Camp, this one is not so fluffy, but it lacks any real plot at the moment... so it counts as fluff. Reviews are 3!<p> 


	4. A Fireescape Garden

His dream house had big windows that let in lots of light. It had a wide sweeping porch , with a swinging bench where he could on sunny afternoon. It had a red door, with a brass door knocker. It had a place for all his books and space for him to write his music. He wanted a large garden, filled with bright beautiful flowers. But most of all he wanted his home to be filled with the laughter of children.

Arthur shook his head, and sprinkled more water on his fire-escape planter box. That dream house was nothing but that for right now, a dream. He and Alfred made nowhere near enough money to afford that kind of house. He was happy though, in their one bed room studio apparent, with windows that overlook the ally, and three flights of stairs they had to walk up. He was happy because he had his fire-escape garden, his six-string guitar, and someone who loved him just as much as he loved them.

Arthur emptied the last of the watering can over his tiny garden, and pulled away from the window seal. He walked into what was their kitchen/living room/office space, setting the watering can down on their coffee/dining table that also doubled as Alfred's work desk as he walked over to the sink. The sound of rushing water filled the tiny living space as Arthur washed his hands.

The apartment felt empty today, without Alfred's boyish enthusiasm to brighten their tiny living space. Arthur shut off the water and dried his hands; Alfred had gone to a job interview earlier that morning. Some posh private school was interested in hiring him to be the new physics teacher and Alfred was hopeful. The private school would pay more than the public school where he was currently employed, and at the very least they then could move into an apartment with a bit more space. Maybe something with an actual kitchen, not that he did much cooking mind.

He turned, leaning up against the cabinet as he looked out at their cluttered living space. They had a hand –me-down couch, a T.V which barely worked, and the folding screen that divided the rest of living space from the bedroom. His guitar and keyboard sat in a corner, music sheets covered in his sprawling handwriting.

_Maybe I should get a real job…_ Arthur wondered, it hadn't been the first time he questioned the path he had chosen.

Being a freelance musician and lyricist was never a steady means of income in the first place, but lately he hadn't been able to catch a break. Lately he'd even stooped to taking on private lessons, and teaching a weekly guitar cores two nights a week at the local community center. But what else could he do? He wasn't trained to do anything else. There had almost been a time when he thought about teaching high school like Alfred, but he wasn't cut out for something like that. He didn't have Alfred's drive to enrich fertile minds. He may want to start a family one day. However, that do not mean he had the patience to put up with bratty teenagers all day. Besides, Alfred was more than just supported of Arthur and his choice of career, he made sure to encourage Arthur at every chance he got.

So what, they lived in cramped conditions, they were still young. It was just a matter of getting where they wanted to be. A matter of Arthur catching his big break and Alfred finding a place to teach where they didn't pay him pennies on the dollar. His dream house could wait till then.

A key in the lock caught his attention, followed by Alfred flinging the door open. His face was beaming and bright light in his blue eyes.

"Arthur!" He called louder than necessary, closing the door behind him.

Arthur tried to greet his longtime boyfriend (practical husband), but found his greeting cut off by Alfred. The man barreled across the room wrapping his arms around Arthur in a bone crushing hug, and then proceeded to pick Arthur up and spin them both around the kitchen.

Arthur squeaked rather indignantly, "Oi git, put me down!"

His pleas were meant by exuberant laughter, "Nope!"

"I take it you got the job then?" Arthur asked giving in, and wrapping his own arms around Alfred's neck.

Alfred stopped spinning, he looked up at Arthur and grinned, "Yep, but don't congratulate me yet I haven't gotten to the best part!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Really, then what is the best part?"

"Not only are they paying me more, but the school's also going to give me a housing allowance!" Alfred's said with barely contained excitement.

Arthur blinked at his boyfriend, as the man's words also sunk in, "So wait that means−

"Uh-hu," Alfred nodded, "That means we can finally afford the down payment on the house we've always wanted and you can have that garden you've always wanted!"

The excitement Alfred was generating must have been contagious. For as soon as the word's had left the teacher's mouth, Arthur cupped his face and kissed him hard. Alfred hummed in delight and pressed back with equal fervor. When they parted Alfred set Arthur down, and kissed his forehead, "And you know what else this means?"

"No, what?"

"This means we can start that family too!"

Alfred beamed at him, and Arthur beamed back, their arms still around each other.

"Yes, yes it dose!"


	5. Not a Fun time

Alfred wasn't driving, in fact he sat in the back seat of a tiny Toyota Yaris. His keens were pressed uncomfortably into the passenger seat, and he had to slouch in order to keep his head from bumping into the ceiling. He wondered briefly who's bright idea was it to take a mini-road trip in (what was to him) a clown car.

He glowered at his brother Matthew in the driver's seat, and answered his own question. The Yaris was his nearly twin's car.

Next to his brother, riding shotgun was his brother's new not quite girlfriend, Nina. Now, she was a very interesting character, certainly one the most− eccentric girls his bro had dated. Yet not dated... Or Something like that, sometimes his brother's relationship status confused the hell out of him. Often he found it better just not to ask and spear himself the headache. All he knew right now was that his brother and Nina were sleeping together, but were more than friends-with-benefits.

Silence prevailed throughout the tiny fuel efficient car, it had not been a fun day. Well that was not entirely true statement. Alfred had a fun time at the sea side, but any day he got to spend with his boyfriend was a fun time. In fact the only reason he not complaining loudly about being crammed in to the back seat of the Toyota, was because he was crammed back there with Arthur. Though at the moment, Arthur had his nose buried in a book, pointedly ignoring the other three people in the car. He had not had fun.

And the day had started with such promise.

The plan had been hatched that morning, by his brother and himself. They would grab the significant others, and then they would spend the day at the beach! Who couldn't have fun at the beach right? Also it would give Alfred a chance to get to know Nina better, and Matt to know Arthur better. Fun couple-y bounding times to be had by all, right?

But things went south very, very fast. And really from Alfred's point of view, the day had been nothing more than a number of small inconveniences that snowballed into the bad day that the other occupants of the car had declared the day to be.

It started off them getting lost on the way there− for an hour. Which led to an argument about the effectiveness of GPS technology, between himself and Matthew. When they did finally make it to the beach, they found it occupied by a beach party complete with D.J, and drunken partygoers. After that had found a spot some ways away from the party, things began to look up. Until they realized both Arthur and Nina had very pale skin, and found that somewhere between the car and their spot on the beach, that they had lost the sunscreen. A fact that Arthur was less than thrilled about, and had spent the rest of the time a beach hiding under the umbrella they had rented. But what had been the nail in the coffin for their ill fated beach trip, was when Nina went missing. She had wondered over to beach party found free beer and then proceeded to get drunk. So that's how Mat had found her, on the raised D.J platform, dancing ….topless.

Mat had not been too happy about that, and Nina had not been too happy about being dragged away from the party. And she had made that fact known−very loudly.

Thus they sat in silence in the Yaris, Nina passed out and drooling against the passenger side window. Matthew focused solely on the act of driving, his knuckles white against the gray of the steering wheel. Arthur was still reading his book, his body language making it very clear that he did not to speak with anyone. And Alfred was staring out of his bit of window.

He watched the sun slip below the horizon, painted the sky in brilliant shades of blush pink and orange. Night slowly blending its way into the sky turning parts a rich plum.

Alfred opened his mouth about to point the natural wonder around them, but the moment he inhaled Matthew took eyes off the road long enough to glare at him. Silently saying, "_I don't care what it is, unless you're on fire, keep your mouth shut!" _

Alfred huffed, as Mat looked back to the road. He looked over at Arthur, and slid hand over the small space between them, brushing against his boyfriend's thigh. Arthur stiffen and looked up from his book to meet Alfred's gaze. He nodded to the window. A smiled found its way to his face as Arthur caught the hint and looked out. The book his hands lowered as he took in the sight of painting worthy sunset.

After a moment Arthur looked back to Alfred and spared him a small smile. He turned his attention back to his book, which he only held it with one hand.

The other was too busy holding Alfred's.


	6. Unwanted Guests

Alfred wasn't sure what had woken him at first, but he was awake now. Though to be honest, he had never really fallen asleep. Maybe it was because he was sleeping in a strange bed, in a strange house, in a country that he was still trying his hardest to get used to. All he could do now was lie there and listen to the contented breathing of his partner, Arthur.

They had just moved to London, barely even been there a week, and while Arthur was thrilled to be back in his home town, Alfred was hesitant. His body kept thinking it was back on the east coast. And after nearly crashing their new car, Arthur had forbidden him from driving for the time being. Why couldn't people in this country just drive on the right hand side of the road? But the jet-lag and odd driving habits were just two things, on an ever growing list of idiosyncrasies that Alfred was just going to have to get used to. For right now though, getting his body set to GMT seemed like a big enough challenge, that and getting the kitchen unpacked.

With a sigh he rolled over, and spooned against his bed mate's back, because if he was going to lie there awake he might was well cuddle! He rested his head gently against Arthur's, the man's hair tickling his nose slightly. Arthur shifted unconsciously in his hold, moving closer to the source of warmth about him, and Alfred began relaxed a little in turn. No, closer to sleep, but at the very least he was comfortable.

Alfred was just on the verge of dozing off when he heard it. A faint overly cautious creek that was not a part of the house's nightly course of groans and squeaks, he would know. Alfred had become very familiar with the house's nocturnal sounds over the past few days of not sleeping well. But he didn't act on it yet, for all he knew it was one of the cats up to some mischief. Though, it would be rather difficult for either of their cats to make that sound. When both of them were curled up at the foot of their bed!

_Damn someone's trying to break in!_ His paranoid and sleep deprived mind concluded as he sat bolt upright and flicked on the bed side lamp.

"Al," moaned the mound of covers that was Arthur's as the light came on, "What in blazes are you on about?"

Alfred looked over his shoulder at his husband as he got out of bed. "Arthur don't panic," he said trying to remain calm himself, "but I think someone's trying to break in."

At this Arthur sat up and shot him a bleary eyed glare, "Break in?"

"Yeah!" the American whispered urgently, snatching a cell phone from off the bed side table. He tossed to Arthur, who barely managed to stop the thing from colliding with his nose. "I'm going to head down stairs to investigate, while you call whatever serves as 911 in this country." The

Arthur looked at the phone then back at this husband nonplused. "Alfred," he said firmly, " there is no one trying to break into our ho−

The sound of something large knocking over boxes and cursing reached their ears and Alfred, (despite their present danger )looked smug.

"Call the police Arthur," Alfred said quietly as he made to exit their room, but stop when he felt a hand on his elbow. He looked down into Arthur's stern worried face.

"What makes you think I'm letting you go down there?" The Englishman whispered harshly. "What if the burglar is armed? I rather not have you dead!"

Alfred shook his head and took hold of Arthur's hand, "That the point, what if he's armed and comes up here , I don't want anything to happen to you either."

"So what, you're going play the hero and potentially get yourself shot, is that your brilliant plan Alfred?"

Alfred smiled weakly, "Yeah something like that."

"Alfred−"

Another crash from down stairs cut off whatever rant Arthur was about to launch into. The Englishman's eyes widen with genuine fear as he quickly set about calling the authorities

Alfred pulled his husband into arms and held him close, god they were both shaking.

"Stay here." He said as he pulled away

Arthur reluctantly nodded, mouthing _Be safe_.

Alfred nodded back and swiftly exited their room.

"Yes hello," Arthur said as the operator picked up "I'd like to report a break in…"

Alfred sighed in some relief, at the very least police were going to be the way. But as he made his way down the hall the dark in nothing but his boxers, he wished now more than ever that he had a shotgun in his hands. Why, did they have to move to a country that did not allow ownership of that kind of weaponry?

He reached the stair case and peered over the banister to the living room below. He saw the dim shape of a hunched figure stumbling blindly about the first floor. Alfred watched the shape stumble into more boxes yet to be unpacked, and heard more cursing. For a burglar, Alfred felt, this guy sure sucked at the whole sneaking around bit.

Careful not to make a sound, Alfred slowly made his way down the stair case. The outline of the man turned around a few times as though lost, before turning away from Alfred and headed back towards the kitchen. There was enough moon light to see by, and Alfred caught sight of his baseball-bat sticking out of one the boxes. He took hold of it quickly, feeling better with some kind of weapon in his hands. He followed stealthily after the intruder bat held at the ready.

The intruder walk into a wall, missing the entrance to the kitchen by a few inches. The man uttered more cures as he stumbled into the kitchen.

Alfred found the robbers actions rather odd, the guy seemed more intent on crashing into things than actually stealing anything. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he followed the man into his kitchen and stood in the door way one hand against the light switch. As soon as the intruder stumbled into another stack of boxes, Alfred flipped the switch.

The over head lights turned on blinding the potential robber, as Alfred brought the bat over his head ready to strike.

"Oi, whos are-ya?" said a drunken voice, "Are ya the one who put all t-these bloody boxes in my house?"

Alfred lowered his bat and took a good look at the person who had broken in to his home. The man was old for one thing, a small wised husk of a man, with big ears filled with hair and an even bigger nose. The old man was squinting at Alfred the way most visually impaired do when they have lost their glasses, and the man wreaked of alcohol.

"Wells who's are ah?" The man slurred drunkenly.

Alfred set his bat aside, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sir," he began "I think you've got the wrong house."

The burglar turned out to be one Nicholas Clarkson, age 85, who suffered from frequent bouts of dementia and happened to live a street behind them. Apparently, the old man had a habit of sneaking out of his daughter his house, getting thoroughly smashed, and then of sneaking back into the wrong house. Or at least that's how his very apologetic daughter explained it when she arrived to pick up her intoxicated father. After the police (who seemed to have experience with Mr. Clarkson), had called her.

Alfred and Arthur now sat on their sofa, the police long gone, and Miss. Clarkson departed with her cantankerous father in tow. She had left her number behind, and had promised to pay any damages her father may have incurred. They felt rather drained yet unable to go to sleep. They were stuck in between feeling thankful, violated, or just plain exasperated.

"Man, that was weird." Alfred said at length staring intently at the ceiling.

Arthur just leaned against his shoulder, "We should be grateful that he wasn't an actual robber."

Alfred hummed in agreement and wrapped one arm protectively around his husband. He rested his head against Arthur's and closed his eyes.

"How did he get in anyways?" Arthur asked.

"The cat door." Alfred stated.

"What?"

"That's what I said."

Arthur fell silent, but decided to not pursue question further, "We're getting rid of the cat flap alright."

"And getting a burglar alarm." The American added.

They lapse into silence once more. Arthur wrapped his arms about Alfred's waist and held him tightly, "I was so scared Alfred, when you left the room, I-I didn't know if you would come back."

"I know sweetheart, I was scared too." Alfred said kissing his husbands temple.

"Don't ever do something like that again."

"I won't."

They kissed, their lips meeting briefly, seeking nothing but comfort in the others presents. After the night they had had, they were simply glad the other was still around to hold on to.

* * *

><p><strong> AN:<strong>This is kind of a the first part of an AU I've been working on. The first part is posted on my livejournal.


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